The Qun of Arlathan
by Taffia
Summary: When Alistair leaves Ferelden to try to find his father, Isabela and Varric go along to keep him out of trouble. Left in a land still wary of their presence, Marian and the Qunari do what they can to build a new home. Sequel to Following Fate.
1. Chapter 1: Across the Waking Sea

_Chapter One: Across the Waking Sea_

The mist hung heavily across the bay. Denerim sat upon the southwestern shore, a shadowy smudge upon the horizon. A small ship made its way with a slow steadiness to the north, heading for a peninsula of cliffside that helped to protect a major gateway into Ferelden. The sails were white and plain. No flag hung from mast or prow. Its shape was vaguely Antivan in profile but with curious openings cut along the middle deck hull. The figures that moved about on board were as silent as the fog about them.

But this was no stealth mission. Some of these souls were seeking a new place to call home, guided by the tides and new allies. A few looked at it as a return to a home they had long lost and were overwhelmed with emotion to see again.

Marian Hawke stood at the rail, her green eyes fixed upon their destination with a sort of hopeful sadness. Once, she'd hoped to bring her mother and siblings back here when all threat of Blight was long past. The hand fate dealt was quite different. Swoop, the loyal family mabari, was still with her, but her family had grown exponentially despite her losses. She had more brothers and sisters, all of whom would die for her as readily as she would for them. She had a full heart for the first time since her father's death. And she had a son to whom she could pass her wisdom—even though the rules of family were no longer so exclusive. She knew he was of her blood even if he never would. And that was all that mattered.

"It's rather foreboding, isn't it?"

The willowy elven woman was at Marian's side like a ghost. Merrill...an unexpected companion on this journey but nonetheless welcome. She'd promised no blood magic. Despite this, she'd been assigned an Arvaraad, and he stood not five paces off seeming to appear disinterested. A delicate ploy. Even Marian approved of the caution.

"What is?"

Merrill gestured out into the shadowy mists. "The weather. The shore. The knowledge that the only place the banns saw fit to let us live was an old Tevinter ruin. Well, to let the _Qunari_ live. I'm sure the rest of us can go wherever. Don't you think?"

"_I_ am Qunari, Merrill."

"Oh, right," came the sheepish reply. "I keep forgetting about that. You just...don't look like they do. Being _shem_ and all. And redheaded. And hornless. And _shem_."

Marian sighed. She'd learned quickly that there were some things impossible to explain. Still, she was glad for Merrill's company. It gave her someone to talk to with Varric and Isabela off on some secret mission. It involved King Alistair. That was all she knew. Isabela had been excited about it well enough, and Marian made Varric promise he would write all of it down, even if the rest of the world could never know. Even with her new place in life, or perhaps due to it, Marian wanted little more than to be with the friends who had seen her to Par Vollen and back. Fenris was about somewhere, but his place was with the soldiers on a ship yet to follow.

For a time, they watched the far shore draw closer in silence. The ship moved up the estuary along the eastern shoreline, and it was not much longer before a shadow as imposing as the spires of Denerim appeared through the fog like the parting of a veil. An old lighthouse stood crumbling and dark at the very perimeter of a massive structure. Walls several spans high rose into the air, encasing arched buttresses and a fortress of gray stone that had watched Ages pass by without a thought for it. Where Soldier's Peak had been avoided for its ghosts and demons, Viricum had been shunned for its inhospitable terrain and proximity to the Brecilian Forest. No noble in his right mind had wanted to reclaim it.

Marian couldn't help but feel like they'd been had. Alistair had taken his leave of the country long before deliberations on a home for the Qunari had been completed. He had put his trust in Bann Teagan. Teagan had laid it at the feet of those lesser, and it was only when the Warden-Commander stepped in that anything came to fruition. She had been fair in allowing Kithshok to choose something that would be easily defensible while still catering to the skittish population that—despite Sten's heroism—preferred to keep Qunari out of sight and out of mind. Merrill said she knew the area from when her clan still wandered the woods. It would have to do.

A wind blew in from off the sea. Winter was fast upon them, and the chill had become an unfamiliar thing after Par Vollen. The former Champion of Kirkwall hugged her arms tightly to her, cursing that the crimson fibers of her shift were not thicker or spun of wool. Seasons in the tropics were merely dry or wet. There was no break from the heat. Here, she was surprised she could not see her breath and clenched her jaws together to keep her teeth from chattering.

A weight fell about her shoulders like a warm embrace, a light trim of fur tickling her neck where it was exposed from her hair being bound up. Marian spun about in surprised but quickly eased when her gaze traveled up the line of a broad chest until it met a face returning a barely perceptible smile.

"You forgot your cloak below, _kadan_." It was Kithshok...Aqunan...that part of her soul she could never be without. His _asala_ sash from his days as Taarbas she wore always about her waist. Her Amell family shield he bore as his own for the same reasons. In so many ways were they bound, but it was a confinement in which they were beyond content.

She felt a blush when his fingers grazed her cheek. Merrill was looking on in wonder, used to only seeing the great kossith male from a distance and avoiding him whenever she could. She avoided all of them, her Arvaraad intimidating enough. Marian forgot that some were not so used to their presence being a benign thing as others.

"The healer is nice enough," the elf had told her once when they were still visitors in Denerim. "She reminds me a bit of Anders."

"Asari?" Marian had scoffed. "How could she possibly remind you of Anders?"

"It's in her eyes, I think. It's like she has seen far more than any mortal soul should be able to bear...and still sees it...as if even blinking can't make it go away."

Tender though he was toward Marian, Kithshok did not trust Merrill. She was a _saarebas_ and had spent far too long in the corruption of Kirkwall. He made no effort to conceal this point. Marian did not interfere, did not attempt to be a buffer or a mediator. She did not try to make anyone friends with anyone else. She understood matters far too well to even bother.

But her mind wasn't thinking at all of Merrill's shock or puzzling through how to alleviate the discomfort of a friend. Her whole world had become the existence of two people and the smell of the sea. It was half a breath of time captured in that light and accidental touch. If her sense were not stronger, Marian would have thought the clouds to have parted, the fog to have lifted, and the sun to have come to bathe them all in a warm and golden light.

The chill still held on. The damp still permeated every fiber and thickened every breath. Kithshok's hands were back at his sides, and Marian was left to shrug her cloak better about her to stay warm. A call came out from the crow's nest above to signal that an appropriate landing site was within view. Arvaraad stepped forward and said something lowly for Kithshok's ears only, and the Qunari general nodded.

"I recommend you get below with the other women," he said, his eyes on Marian while addressing them both. "We don't know what might be waiting."

"It's a gift with teeth," Marian commented with a glance over her shoulder. They were fully in the shadow of the fortress, its crumbling, ancient stone close enough to see rivulets of moisture glittering upon the surface, coursing downward along cracks and growths of brown moss.

"Perhaps, but our duty is clear. We preserve what we can and rebuild what we must. We are here to fulfill a demand of the Qun, _kadan_, and this is not the first time any of us have been handed a prison in which to live freely."

The woman's stomach clenched at those particular memories of Kirkwall, the Qunari soldiers shoved like cattle into a sequestered area of the docks, a firetrap of a warehouse for a home. The shadow of Viricum grew all the darker and colder for the very thought that her own people, her own native Ferelden, could be so ignorant as a city whose history is long-steeped in slavery and dark magics. But she remembered how she had felt about Sten when he was imprisoned in Lothering, her sister's nightmares, her brother's ferocity at defending his family. If the Blight hadn't come and nothing had changed, she doubted she would have been any different than the fear-addled banns.

And that made her feel worse.

But she was not the same. She had grown past the closeted ignorance, had experienced the cosmopolitan wisdom of a people who knew the worth of learning everything just to know that what was simplest was best. She had been Ben-Hassrath, a guardian. She was now Basarigena, and it would be up to her to ensure that the society she had come to love would continue to function with utmost efficiency.

_We are here to fulfill a demand of the Qun._

And this was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2: Belly of the Dragon

_Chapter Two: Belly of the Dragon_

The Vashoth Stenok had split off into groups. Moving with caution across the grounds and through the darkness of long-abandoned corridors, they worked, first, at claiming a safe base of operations. There was not much to clear out at the start. Some forest animals had taken up residence where nature and time had done the most damage. Deeper areas showed signs of great spiders, and there was a sour dankness to the whole place that didn't seem to have any point of origin.

A burly Sten led the foray into the deepest area beneath the western walls. His brothers in the _antaam_ had long ago nicknamed him Vassa, implying a sharpness of vision, for though he had been robbed of one silver-violet eye, it had only seemed to make his skill at archery all the better. Rumor had it that he had killed one of the profane Chantry mothers in the _basra_ city of Kirkwall. He had never confirmed or denied it. Duty was not something one boasted of.

He brought them to a halt when they reached a room that appeared to have once been a wine cellar or food store. Broken, rotted bits of wood and debris lay everywhere, most of it barely recognizable for what it might have once been. A rat's nest was disturbed, the creatures fleeing in a squeaking mass toward a gaping pit in the middle of the floor. Vassa peered down into the darkness. The light from his torch was powerless against the nothing, but he could feel a chill draft waft up from below. This was no mere hole. It was an opening, an opening to a passage that led somewhere.

An Ashaad moved about the opening, periodically kneeling to examine something more closely. His fingers traced along scratches in the flagstone, dabbed into viscous fluids to determine their origin, felt for any other telltale signs just below the rim of the opening. When he had completed his circuit of the pit, he looked up to Vassa and nodded.

"Seal it," Vassa said lowly to the others, motioning for them to back out slowly. "Barricade the doors until we have a better solution. This colony will lose none to the _vashun_ while I breathe."

His men did not question, did not falter. They left and did exactly as he said. Doors were barred nearly the entire way back to the upper levels of the fortress in some vain hope that it would keep any wandering beasts away from what was most precious.

They eventually came to a massive chamber. There was no way to see where the walls met the ceiling. It took a full three-hundred paces to walk the circumference, and that revealed three other vast corridors branching off. It was a crossroads between the different wings of the fortress, each facing a different cardinal direction. Pointed arches both on the walls and a matching pattern in the marble floor marked even intervals in between. Black marble with red granite accents. There was a detail glinting in the torchlight, bands of bronze laid in the spaces between rows and patterns of stone.

The core of it all was a column at the center of the great space, a curiously rough-hewn thing that was far too old to be Tevene in origin. Vassa could say nothing of it beyond that. An _ashkaari_ would have to be brought here to determine the purpose such a thing would have if not holding up the roof. Proper Tevene architecture—as it had to be admitted they had some talent for however grotesque—never required such an intrusive method of structural support. The pillar was thick, about twenty paces in circumference and had the look of something that had been exposed to wind and rain for centuries. Such a thing did not happen indoors. Either it was brought inside, or the fortress had been built around it.

It was impossible to tell the time. How long they had been in the fortress' depths was unknown, but it had easily been most of the day. A vote was taken. The decision was made to return here in the morning and see what could be gleaned. A room of that size could serve many purposes within the needs of their community. The pillar, no matter how curious, would not be a hindrance.

They made their way back in measured haste, caution unnecessary in the places they had been. Some rooms were checked a second time for any recent signs of darkspawn activity now that a burrow had been found, but there did not seem to be any further cause for concern.

The sunlight was garishly bright when they reached it. Already, the main courtyard was full of milling bodies and piles of cargo. Women worked at sorting through supplies with a team of _armaas_ to properly distribute foodstuffs and other necessities. A kitchen area had already been erected, _athlok_ cooks hard at work to prepare the evening meal. Not even the soldiers were idle. Kithshok worked among them to ensure that all the tents were set up to act as temporary living quarters until the fortress was completely secure. It was to him that Vassa reported their findings.

Kithshok's face was grim at the news. "We cannot repel a horde in our condition," he said, his voice low that only the Sten might hear. "The Beresaad is not due for another two days, and I will not lose Vashoth Stenok so soon. I ask that you hold for my order to go back in there."

"Yours is a wisdom I trust," came the reply, Vassa no more confident in the situation than his commander. "But we would not be left waiting had the _basra_ not been allowed to get their way."

He was talking of the enforced thinning of their ranks. In order to prove to the Bannorn that they were not a threat, the Qunari had agreed to divide their numbers between several transport ships—only one of which belonged to them. The Beresaad and remainder of the _gena_ were being ferried by Fereldan sloops, tiny, flat-bottomed things that somehow were considered seaworthy. Marian had claimed that such vessels took her and the other refugees to Kirkwall all those years ago. Vassa had returned the comment, "Because they hoped you would have died on the way," without even a thought for how it would have affected the Basarigena. But she had laughed. The doglords of Ferelden were too stubborn to drown, she had said. It was their very force of will that kept them from sinking.

But Vassa had his orders. They were to hold fast and wait for the Beresaad. And, when it came, they would find a way to properly seal the gaping maw in the foundation of the western wing. If there were others, they would be found and blocked likewise. If they were to live in this ruin that still carried the stench of Tevinter corruption, they would do so with no threat from the inside...or below.

* * *

"I really don't see why he stares at me like that. It's like he can't make up his mind of whether I _have_ done something wrong or _will_ do something wrong." Merrill peered cautiously over her shoulder at Arvaraad while she and Marian settled into a tent they would be sharing with eight other women. It felt very military in its way, like a portable barracks. The white canvass was woven tightly enough to keep out the rain but was still thin enough to let in some natural light from outside. When the flaps were closed, the space could be kept as warm as any house just by burning coal in one bronze tripod brazier.

"He stares for exactly that reason," Marian commented back as if it were only small talk. She was busily making sure that her Ben-Hassrath armor, shield, and Basrath-Kata had not suffered any damage while sealed in a trunk invaded by damp. The sword stuck a little when she tried to unsheathe it, and she promptly sat down upon her cot to set a whetstone to the cold iron.

"But I haven't done anything!"

"Not to them, but that's not the point. You need to remember that Tevinter has been an enemy to the Qunari since the beginning. Tevinter, the home of corrupt magisters and even worse magic. So far as Arvaraad is concerned, you're little better than a demon on a leash."

Merrill's eyes went wide. "I am not-"

"I didn't say you _were_. I'm trying to illustrate the difference in perception."

"You could have used a softer metaphor."

The other woman had to laugh, bitterly, a sound that came mostly through her nose. "Nearly a decade with me, and you expect something soft? Merrill, have you forgotten that I was a Templar? That I _saw_ you perform blood magic and barely managed to stop you from releasing one of the worst of all possible demons? You have your tongue only because you are not _viddathari_ or a prisoner, and I cannot save you further if you misstep." She had to stop what she was doing lest she accidentally destroy her blade. "They allow you here because, despite all that, I trust you. I _need_ you. And it's not impossible for them to trust you, either. If you can prove yourself to Kithshok, it will be enough for them all."

Merrill sat opposite her friend, her hands nervously tugging at the leather edge of her splint mail tunic. Her worry contorted the lines of her _vallaslin_ in such a way that it only exaggerated her expression and made her all the more pitiable. But Marian's heart had only ever so much sympathy to give her. That had been clear from the beginning. Bethany had been the only mage more than simply tolerated in the Champion's life. And after the debacle of the Eluvian and Anders' betrayal, the human's heart had hardened considerably. That she was being as accommodating as this was like a glimpse into their earliest acquaintance, and Merrill was terribly afraid that it would shatter.

"I'm sorry," she said softly after watching Marian return to work. "I truly am. And not just for complaining but...for everything. You've always been kind to me, Hawke, in your way. I promise to do my best."

Marian gave a nod without looking up. "You'll be fine, Merrill. And, from one friend to another, let me give you some advice."

The elf perked to attention.

"Make yourself indispensable. The Qunari are a people of purpose and duty, their actions based on need rather than want. Do as you're told, and do it well"-she jerked her chin in the direction of Arvaraad, a small, secret smile curling her mouth-"and he won't need to stare at you anymore."

She learned, then, of Adda Saarebas, a Rivaini witch who had been a critical factor in the Qunari success at Kont-Aar, and a huge reason why Marian was even still alive. She had gained Kithshok's trust when he was Taarbas, earned his utmost respect during his time as Arishok, and she and her sister witches had been given funeral rites usually reserved for the finest of warriors. What Merrill understood from it was that, because she wasn't Tevene, she had a chance. And because she had that chance, she could be invaluable.

Her eyes shot over to Arvaraad. His attention appeared to be focused elsewhere, keeping an eye on things outside the tent rather than within. But she didn't miss that his ear was bent their way, that his body was half-turned to allow him easy entry and at her throat within the span of a heartbeat. Instead of feeling afraid, a spark of confidence settled the cold tightness at the bottom of her gut.

A small spark, but it was the first she could remember feeling in a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3: Ebasen Imekari

_Chapter Three: Ebasen Imekari_

"Grab her! Grab her, now! _Shaltam_, Eva, do not let her eat that!"

Asari watched in panic as the fire-haired elf girl chased a squealing Talan around the low-walled sheep fold currently being utilized as a play area for the _imekari_. Talan was more than mobile. She'd learned to walk since the Qunari arrival at Denerim, but it was not a leisurely pace that she preferred. Her legs were strong for her age. Her lyrium-blue eyes already flashed with such fearlessness. Eva chased after the little head of white hair as gleefully as the toddler avoided her grasping hands.

"It is only mud, Tamassran," she returned.

"We don't know that for certain." Asari juggled a swaddled, squirming Benassen in one arm while reaching out to stop a kossith yearling from chasing after her human sister. "_Vashun_ have walked this earth. Can't you see that nothing grows?"

She was trying desperately not to sound angry, for she wasn't. There was a frustration at having to watch a half-dozen _imekari_, but Eva had proven to be a huge boon. Talan had taken well to her. Mastering that child alone was half the battle won. Benassen, as abrupt as his birth had been, was much easier. He slept a good deal, cried very little, and was not picky about what he ate. But he would soon grow up, and it wouldn't take long before he was just as much a handful as his older sister.

"They are children, Asari," Eva put plainly though a grin still brightened her face. She had caught Talan up in her arms and was holding her close, mud and all. "They are going to eat mud! _I_ ate mud. My Qunra thought it was funny because it tasted so horrid, she didn't have to teach me the lesson at all. I learned on my own."

Asari sighed. "And that is part of the problem. I'm no Qunra. My only real experience at raising children is bringing Talan to Par Vollen." Her expression softened. "I am no mother. It was not to be. I'd ask the Basragena's help...but that would only complicate matters." She looked down at Benassen's sleeping face. He would grow to be like his parents—that was assured. The Ariqun's inquiries were always profoundly thorough. What Asari didn't understand were the eyes. Golden like her own. Nowhere in Kithshok's lineage as far back as the homeland had such a trait appeared. Marian was as equally likely to have contributed as the color was impossible in humans. Perhaps a combination? She would need to draw out a few diagrams when she had time.

And time was precious these days.

"Maybe you should write something," Eva suggested, interrupting Asari's thoughts. "What of those histories you were helping Ashkaari with?" She was meaning Varric. Specifically, she was talking about his truth-based, borderline-scandalous serial of _Caught in Qunandar_. They got away with it by explaining that it was meant to be an informative guide—however verbose—on how to identify those most likely to go Tal-Vashoth along with the root causes. It was also good for easing _viddathari_ into the Qunari culture when _qamek_ was too extreme or ineffective dwarves showed a particular resilience).

"I have no grasp on Torio Deluca," came the resigned reply. "My domain was the Ben-Hassrath in the story. Her actions rely on his to continue the fiction."

"Then start anew," the elf shrugged. "Write about this place. Study the plants. Tamassran, you are only saddled with the children until Qunra arrives, and you have yet to let yourself rest!"

"Duty cannot ever be ignored."

Eva sighed. Talan was finally calmer in her arms, but it would not last. The other children were as equally wound up. There was only one recourse. Tell a story, then. Here. Right now. Surely, there are Qunari tales both educational to the children and relieving for you."

Her eyes were hopeful. Asari could tell that the elf needed the diversion as much as she did, herself. She held a breath as she thought, her mind racing through all the things she knew as healer, herbalist, and _tamassran_. She settled for something that would entertain as well as teach, something more recent and relevant.

_Generations after the homeland and oceans away, a single woman gave birth to two boys. One was strong of body and will. The other was quick of mind and fiery of spirit. In both of them was great promise._

_They were raised together with the other children, but the two acted as if none else existed. They had a bond all their own that could not be denied by Qun or Qunra. This was embraced and used for the benefit of all, each brother complimenting the other in thought, word, and deed._

_The day of assignment was a challenge. Inseparable but inherently different, they could not be given the same duties as apprentices. He of the strong body and stalwart heart was given to the antaam as Karashok. He quick of mind was given to the viddathlok to learn the scholarly was as Ashlok. This lasted only so long. Karashok naturally excelled at all that was expected of him, but Ashlok suffered without his brother. Years would pass before he was eligible for reassignment, but he had always been impatient._

_At fifteen, the brothers were brought together again where the Arishok himself insisted on observing them. Karashok was to be promoted, and they hoped to resolve the issue of his brother at the same time. Unaware, the boys sparred with wooden weapons as boys are wont to do. Karashok had his skill, but Ashlok had a previously unobserved agility. Match after match, Ashlok defeated his brother, a natural master of the unexpected stroke._

"_Vashkata," the Arishok proclaimed. "Vashkata will he be."_

_Now, both brothers were able to excel in their assigned roles, training together, learning from each other. The tamassrans have even written that such a thing is the epitome of what Koslun teaches us, that even our differences, when used in such harmony, can only make us stronger._

_One day, it came to pass that-_

Asari stopped short. The story was far from finished, but the shadow cast across the ground before her had a familiar profile. Looking up, she saw the face of Kithshok, violet eyes staring at her with a terrible blankness, such an absence of feeling that she had never seen.

His voice was the same way. "Have you everything that you need, Tamassran?"

Asari's mouth went sickeningly dry. For a moment, she couldn't even think let alone breathe, her lips working but unable to make a sound. The Ariqun had made his past known to her out of necessity. The young healer had found it a fitting tale to exemplify the concept of justice and the importance of the many working as one. She hadn't given a single thought to the reality that he very well might overhear her.

"We do, Kithshok," she eventually croaked, her face burning with embarrassment. "All well be ready when Qunra arrives."

Kithshok nodded, a single gesture of acknowledgment, and he left.

The cold, clamping feeling wouldn't release the kossith woman's gut. Even though her breath was steadying, she couldn't shake the notion that she was due for a reprimand. If it came form Marian, it would be merciful and seem more like comfort. But from Kithshok? He was the temperate sort. Temperate and just. And she had watched him kill his own blood-kin—his own brother by Qun and by birth—to protect the sanctity of the Qun and the lives of its people. Tamassran stories to children were supposed to be truthful allegory...not historical fact. Not yet.

"And that's why I don't tell stories on my own," Asari put bluntly to no one in particular. "I don't have Ashkaari's gift to alter the facts to disguise the truth."


End file.
